i was tuned in to the news today—-NPR, of course, because who wouldn’t listen to a station with prrrrrrrr in the name??—-and i heard that a lot of people are planning to boycott the state of the union address tomorrow night because they think not watching the speech given by the thing in the white house will send a message that we don’t like him.

i suppose there’s some way to track how many people have their tv’s on at the appointed hour, which is creepy, any way you slice it, but i wonder if not watching will deliver the wrong message?  or any message, for that matter.  sort of like the message that was delivered at the inauguration last year when shocking few attended but their number was reported as millions and millions– more than had ever attended a presidential inauguration since the dawn of american history.

i watched that man put his hand on a bible and solemnly swear that he would faithfully execute the office of president of the united states, and to the best of his ability, preserve, protect and defend the constitution of the united states.  perhaps it comes with being a cat, but i believe that if you take an oath with your hand on the bible, you better be telling the truth, and you sure as hell shouldn’t say you’re going to behave one way if you plan to behave another way.  but mere hours later, he started telling lies about the yuge crowds.  we could all see how many people weren’t there, but he made up a bunch of crap about the news reporters and said that what we all saw wasn’t real.  i had to go straight to the cat box when i heard that!!!  in fact, i’ve spent an entire year trying to figure out how to get a cat box to washington so that nasty piece of poo can be put where he belongs.

so here i am, certain that watching the circus tomorrow won’t make a lick of difference to the clown in the center ring.  i may tune in for a bit, just so i’ll get some of the jokes that people will make when it’s over.  purr, y’all.

here we are in our first-ever photo together because it’s the first time sputnik has held still long enough to have his picture taken.  notice that my paw is extended like the hand of god in michelangelo’s “creation of adam,” but as you can see, my face is not expressing the same hope and pride that the face of god does.  in simple, straightforward language, my face is saying, “be still for one second, you little fart, or the claws that go with that paw will be put to good use.”

as it turns out, the wee one and i are getting along well.  his favorite game is “jump on bob,” which turns into chase, capture, wrestle, and every now and then, intervention by the gal.

she worries that the kid is too small for such rough play, but i think he can take more than she knows.  after all, he starts every bout.  here’s the funny thing:  we were all in bed the other night and i heard a tiny noise coming from spork.  it wasn’t his purr; that motor is on 24/7.  it was the sound of him rumpling the covers with his paws.  he was flexing first one paw and then the other in a motion that looked like he was kneading bread.  and then i heard the same sound near me.  i looked at my own paws and they were doing that kneading thing, too.  we were making biscuits, which in all my days i had never done before.  it felt right.  it felt good.  it felt like we’re a family.  purr, y’all.

i can’t decide if today is the day to shop for my gal’s Christmas present, or if i should wait ’til tomorrow.  there’s something sweet about dashing around the mall after everything is picked over and the thing your loved one put on her wish list is no longer available. there’s a giddiness among those who scurry from one store to the next, filling their bags with impulse purchases that say, “i forgot that Christmas comes on the same day every year.”  if i shop today, i’ll miss all that festive befuddlement.

on the other hand, i’m not sure that a present is needed.  after all, she’s got me, the wild boy that came in from the cold.  it was exactly this time last year that she touched me for the first time and i found my purr.  we’ve had a full year of entwining our lives like wisteria vines, and since i could ask for nothing more, i assume that she wouldn’t either.

which brings me to the little guy, Spork.  if i’m everything to her, what does that make him?  everything prime?  it’s confusing.  but here’s the thing; he’s growing.  he’s up to two and a half pounds, and he runs around the house like the devil is chasing him.  when he encounters one of us adults, he turns sideways, flattens his ears and pounces!   he’s a cheeky boy, and though i hate to admit it, he’s hilarious.  he’s not just growing up, he’s growing on me, and…..i like him.

i suppose that’s what this season is all about.  you’re given something you didn’t want; something that seems pointless and off the mark, like all that crap the three wise men brought when they came from afar, when what Mary and Joseph would have liked was a nice pot of soup or a subscription to a diaper service.  or maybe it’s more like the shepherds dashing into town to see the new-born savior and finding no one that looked like they were in the saving business.  their haste to return to their flocks was surely no surprise to the new parents whose tiny human infant neither sparkled nor shone.  like Spelunk; worthless at first, but it turns out he matters more than i could imagine.

i think i answered my shopping question.  purr, y’all.

this has been on my mind for a week now and i’m finally putting it into words.  we were coming home from the airport via a ride-share service, and the gal, having never met a stranger, asked the driver how his day had gone.  he told her more than she expected, and we both paid close attention.

he said his day wasn’t easy, that he drives for a living because he can’t do much else.  he’s a veteran who returned from the war in Iraq with PTSD and an injured back.  he hoped that he’d learn valuable skills that would translate easily into civilian life when he finished his hitch.  he thought a good job and a bright future were within his grasp.  but then he was damaged.  he didn’t say how it happened, only that his plans fell apart.  now he drives until the pain forces him to stop.

my gal asked what she could do to help, and he said, “don’t forget us.  lots of folk in the service have families that send them cards and packages for birthdays and holidays, and they know their people are thinking about them.  but there are a whole lot of service people who have no one.  they never get a package.  they never get a card.  no one thinks about them.  no one says ‘you’re on my mind.’  then when we get home, we’re supposed to get on with it, and we can’t, and then we disappear.”

when we got to the house, he helped with the luggage and my gal gave him a hug.  but i wonder, what else can we do?  and by WE i mean YOU.  you may already know how to do this, but if you don’t, here’s a link below to a bunch of organizations that will pass your cards and letters along to a complete stranger who would really appreciate a kind word–from YOU.  we can never know what a difference we may make, but our driver was pretty sure that every effort, whether great or small, really truly matters.  purr, y’all.

http://www.operationwearehere.com/IdeasforSoldiersCardsLetters.html#anchor_435

yesterday morning, that gal that loves me more than life itself tested me in ways i didn’t know a cat could be tested.  she gave me a some medicine to soothe my nerves and then shoved me into the potato sack known as “an airline certified pet carrier” so we could fly to our atlanta outpost.  when using the words, “airline certified,” it’s important to remember that airlines don’t want animals on their planes.  why?  because they hate us.  they think we’re sub-human and therefore unworthy of a place on the plane.  even though our humans need us, have legitimate cause to travel with us, and have paid through the nose to carry us on, we are scorned.

i’d flown twice before, in a pet carrier that was reasonably comfortable, but because of Damn Spot, galfriend needed a device that would carry TWO.  so a new version arrived with a zip divider that gave mister stinky-butt nine inches of luxurious comfort, and i got nine inches of claustrophobia.  i had a lot to say about this device, and i did everything in my power to remove myself from it, but sadly it was built to withstand the protestations of cats like me, and i was stuck.

there was a bit of mercy once we were through security (where the TSA people ignored the hiss out of me while treating Damn Spot like baby Jesus!), the gal took Spot out to give him a bottle and unzipped the divider so i could stretch out.  but then she had to carry that little fart from one side of the country to the other.  people oooed and ahhed and asked all about him while i was treated like luggage and stowed under the seat.  it took two planes and seven hours to get home, and when she finally let me out, all i could do was eat, use the litter box, and then crawl into bed with her.

next time we fly, she and Splat can enjoy the “pet carrier” experience.  i’m going first class.

as you may recall, i mentioned a while ago that a dog might be a good addition to the family.  we used to have dogs, but they’re all gone now.  i fancy the idea of a pit bull to help me keep the other cats in line.  so the gal and i have talked it over, and without mentioning it to mr. her husband, we started looking at rescue websites for a nice canine friend for her and me.  she found an adoption event nearby, and off she went to see if our new pal was there waiting for us.  my hopes were pretty high, and while she was gone i paced the floor like an expectant father from a sit-com.  then i heard the car in the drive.  the door opened.  she walked in—–with a kitten!

my heart sank.  what the hell.  a kitten?  really?  after all our conversations about dogs, she brings this home?  i have no beef with cats, what with being one myself, but damn it all, how is this little thing going to help my master and commander compaign?  there’s no way a kitten will help me restore order with the fractious femmes.  “but he’s an orphan,” she said.  “hiss,” said i.  she’s calling him Spot because he looks like a little black blob of ink.  Lady Macbeth expresses my feelings quite nicely.  “Out damned Spot! Out i say!”

i wanted strength and teeth and muscle to set things right, and what i got was this tiny, helpless baby.  oy.   happy advent and purr, y’all.

i just learned about “wish lists.”  this is the compilation of all the things one wants but  can’t afford, can’t find, or that one has been told by someone in authority that one can’t have.  take me, for example.  you want to know what i want?  mice.  and i don’t mean those cleaver little fake mice that are stuffed with catnip.  those are toys. i like toys just fine, but toys i’ve got; mice i ain’t got. i’d also like a couple of squirrels and chipmunk.  all of these should be alive and healthy when i unwrap them.  unfortunately, my gal has already told me that i won’t be getting any of these for Christmas.

here’s what else is on my list.  i want the door to open when i stare at it.  has anyone invented a device that will do that?  if you know where i or “santa”/ my gal can get one, please let us know.

the last thing i want is more important than all the others, and i hesitate to ask for it because i know that getting it is so damn unlikely.  evenso, i’d like to have peace.  by that i don’t mean the peace that happens when all the housecats are sleeping.  i mean the kind of peace that only humans can make by believing in their mutual humanity.  now i’ll admit that when i’m chasing the feline femmes around the house, i occasionally think of them as less than cats, but that’s probably because they act like rabbits, running for their lives.  and even with that prey behavior, i KNOW they are cats.

the problem with people is that they forget that they are all made from the same stuff.  they’re not special because of their coloring or their gender or where they live or what language they speak or how or who they worship.  if you put a bunch of cats in one room, you might have calico and tabby, black and tuxedo, white, brown, orange, persian, siamese and hairless.  but inside the skin, we are all the same.  we’re all just cats.  people are people are people, and it would be so wonderful, even miraculous! if they would treat each other with the same respect that they desire.  i read that somewhere and it makes sense.

so that’s my list.  mice, squirrels and peace.  actually, it’s PEACE, PEACE AND MORE PEACE, and then some mice and squirrels.   purr, y’all.

my gal did something absolutely crazy today:  she went to the mall to do some christmas shopping.  as a cat, i have to admit that i really haven’t the foggiest idea why going to the mall is part and parcel of celebrating christmas.  as a matter of fact, i haven’t the foggiest about christmas.  is this a day for consuming?  is it a day for lighting up the house?  is it part 2 of thanksgiving with food, family and friends?   i feel like i should know more, but the lights and shopping don’t really interest me.  food is good, but really, what’s all the fuss?

when the gal came in, she told me about seeing a woman carry her little boy up to an old white man with long hair and red clothes.  she said the old man was sitting on a throne and he was patting his knees so the woman would know where she was supposed to deposit the child.  at this point in the story my skin was crawling.  it sounded like the woman was going to sacrifice her boy to the old man who must have been a king or a god of some kind.  and it sounded like the god was going to play with his prey by making him sit still before eating him.  the little boy seemed to know this was his end, so he let out a yell that could be heard from one end of the mall to the other.  he kicked, he screamed, he fought his mother and the god like his life depended on it, because apparently it did.  no one helped the boy.  no one stopped the unfolding horror.  instead, the woman told him to stop screaming and sit still!!!

friends, if this is christmas, i want none of it.  i’m pretty sure that jesus’ mom never took him to see that man.    purr, y’all.

this was my first thanksgiving and i am impressed.  for several days in a row there was lots of activity in the house.  the gal filled planters, painted walls, cleaned the kitchen, ran the vacuum, brought stuff down from the attic, put stuff up in the attic, in and out, round and round, noise noise noise, all of which gave me a chance to bolt out the door again, which was nice, and yes i was a good boy and came back in when called.

then the bustle ceased and the gal and mr. her husband walked out the front door with suitcases in hand.  they said good-bye, but didn’t say where they were going.  did get the house ready so the fractious femmes and i could celebrate with a few laps across the ceiling and naps on the kitchen counters?  it seems that way.  i suppose a lot of people felt lonely without their loved ones on a day when being with family and friends is essential.  but the truth is i wasn’t lonely at all.  i had a great day giving the girls a good chase, and if they were honest, i think they’d say they enjoyed it too.  i’ve noticed that i’ve been smiling a lot these days because we chase each other, me them and they me, which means we’re doing something new:  we’re playing.  who would have thought it?  so today i’m thankful for this nice clean house and we three cats  who are learning to play, and–don’t tell anyone i said this–learning to love.  purr, y’all.